


I Slam Therefore I Am

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Slam Poetry, there's minimal angst because it's only like 4 or 5k
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:37:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10079741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Louis and Harry are both creative souls but they aren't friends, not by a long shot.This is the Rival Slam Poets AU that no one asked for.





	

"I hate him."

Liam doesn't even bother looking up from his Lit homework. "You can't hate him, you've never even spoken to him."

"I hate Donald trump and I've never spoken to him either."

Liam rolls his eyes and highlights something in his textbook. "Yeah, but everyone hates Donald trump."

Louis makes a face at that (which Liam, of course, doesn't see because he's too busy being a model student) but moves onto his next line of attack.

"I've heard his so-called _poetry._ "

"And?" Liam sighs. 

" _And_  trust me, you'd hate him after hearing him try to string a couple of words together in a complete sentence too."

"Okay first of all, I go to all of your slams. I _have_  heard him speak. And secondly: Louis, he's a slam poet. Complete sentences - proper grammar as a whole, really - are kind of irrelevant."

"Yeah, well his poems are stupid." 

Louis realizes he's probably said this a little bit too loudly when a hush falls over the campus common area and everyone turns to stare at him. Oops.

"Louis!" Liam whispers frantically, his eyes roving around the room in a panic. "What if he’d been here and heard you?"

Louis scoffs. "It's not like I said his name."

"No, but everyone in this room knows who _you_  are. And they know there's only one other person in this school who you could possibly be talking about."

As much as Louis hates to admit it, it's true. For as long as he's been going to poetry slams and baring his soul to the entire world on stage (okay, fine, maybe just to the poetry club and other random students and staff who were drawn inside by the 'free Starbucks coffee' sign), his one and only rival has been Harry Styles.

That bastard. The only thing stopping Louis from spitting on the floor in distaste is the fact that Liam would probably faint from embarrassment and his mother raised him better than that. Also his aim is atrocious and he'd probably just end up with drool running down his chin.

Anyway, it’s not as if Harry likes him either. Harry’s made that abundantly obvious in the year or so since he’d joined the poetry club.

So contrary to Liam’s protestations, their intense dislike for each other is mutual. The look on Harry’s face whenever Louis is around is all the evidence needed.

“Whatever Liam.” Louis finally decides on, shooting a quick glance at his phone and bolting upright when he sees the time. 

“Shit, I’ve got class. I’ll see you at home!” Louis swings his backpack over his shoulder and nearly smacks into the girl walking by their table in his haste to leave.

“Be careful Lou!” is the last thing he hears from Liam before he’s out of the room.

Louis rolls his eyes at Liam’s typical mothering as he sprints down the hall, his overladen backpack swaying from side to side and slamming uncomfortably against his kidneys with every step.

He feels like Usain Bolt on his way to Olympic victory as he careens around the final corner. His class is just a couple of feet away, he’ll definitely be able to slide into his seat before the prof closes the door to the lecture hall -

The only warning he gets of the impending crash is the cloud of curly brown hair suddenly entering his field of vision and getting closer at an alarming rate.

The next thing he knows, he’s sprawled out on the ground and someone else’s heeled boot is digging into his ass.

“Ummmm,” Louis hears from the ground next to him, and his stomach drops. He recognizes that morbid, monotone voice. He’s heard enough terrible poems recited in it over the years.

Harry fucking Styles.

That bastard.

“Is there a problem out here, gentlemen?” And oh, fantastic, Louis’ prof clearly witnessed the collision firsthand.

Louis glares at Harry before turning to his professor.

“No sir. _Some of us_  are still in the ‘learning to walk’ stage of childhood development, is all.”

Louis stands up, brushes off the back of his pants (because of course, Harry’s obscenely expensive designer boots left a dust print on his ass), and ignores Harry’s indignant, "Hey!" as he walks inside the classroom.

He sits down in the only open seat (right next to the door, because of course, it’s clearly _one of those days_ ) and gets one last glimpse of Harry staring intensely at him, his long curly hair a mess, his eyebrows pulled together as he frowns 

The the professor shuts the door and whatever weird connection existed briefly between the two of them is severed.

Louis pulls out his laptop, prays it didn’t break during the fall, and forces himself to focus on the lecture.

***

 

Louis has just collapsed face first on the couch when he hears the front door slam and Liam’s concerned voice coming from somewhere above him.

“Whoa, what the hell happened to you?”

“You should see the other guy,” Louis mumbles as he buries his face in the nearest throw pillow. 

“Lou,” Liam says, and Louis knows he has to actually answer him now because Liam’s used his ‘concerned parent voice’ which reminds Louis so much of his mom it practically forces a response out of him.

“I got into an accident,” he starts and upon seeing the look of horror on Liam’s face, quickly rephrases.

“Not with a car or my skateboard or anything like that. I crashed into someone in the hallway on the way to class.”

Liam’s expression of concern quickly changes into one of amusement and Louis doesn’t like that, not one bit.

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me, you looked like you were about to call an ambulance 15 seconds ago!”

Liam looks properly chastised and wipes the smile off his face. He kneels down next to the couch and takes a closer look at the wicked bruise on Louis’ lower back just above his butt. 

“This is such a weird shape for a bruise.” He says, poking at with cold fingers.

“Yeah well,” Louis begins rolling onto his side so his bruised back is safely hidden from Liam’s probing hands. “That’s what tends to happen when you collide with some moron in heeled boots."

Liam must be able to sense that there’s more to the story. He gives Louis a long look.

“It was Harry’s boot.”

Now Liam just looks confused.

“Someone kicked you in the kidney wearing Harry Styles’ boots?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Harry was wearing the boots. Obviously. Keep up, Liam.”

Liam looks alarmed now. “Is he okay?”

“Harry Styles’ stupid heeled boot might have ruptured my internal organs and caused permanent damage and you’re asking if <i>he’s</i> okay?”

Liam just stares at him. 

Louis stares right back but eventually relents.

“I’m sure he’s fine. He had all that hair to cushion his fall.”

“Louis - ”

“It’s fine, okay? I promise I only said one mean thing to him.” 

Liam looks like he’s doing his metaphorical and literal best to bite his tongue.

“What?” Louis asks, annoyed now.

“I just don’t understand why you let him get to you like this. I’ve never seen you bothered so much by anyone else.” Liam finally says.

“He deserves it. Trust me.” Louis responds.

 

***

 

Louis’ hands shake a bit as he reads over his poem. He’s pretty confident that he’ll remember everything, but there’s always that niggling bit of self doubt that tells him he’ll stumble over his words or, God forbid, forget what he’s saying in the middle of a particularly passionate sentence.

His poem today is about an issue that’s incredibly close to his heart. As the first born (and for a long time, only) child of a single mother, he’s always struggled to find a way to express his love and appreciation for the hardships his 19 year old mom had had to endure while raising an infant all by herself on barely more than minimum wage.

He’s mostly made peace with the fact that his birth father (or sperm donor, as he typically refers to him as) had fucked off when Louis had been barely a week old, but it’s never been an issue he’s been comfortable talking about. Of all his friends at school, Liam’s the only one who even knows that Mark Tomlinson isn’t his biological father (not that it matters now, considering he’s out of the picture too).

Louis’ poem today is about sacrifice, and love, and the struggle to survive. It’s about his mother. About his memories of growing up before his mom had remarried, when it was just the two of them against the world.

He’s never allowed himself to be so vulnerable in front of an audience before, but Louis knows this is something he has to do. He’s ready to finally face his one lingering demon and to vanquish it in front of everyone.

But first, he has to sit through whatever pretentious, flowery drivel Harry plans on performing today.

Harry’s not a bad poet, per se, but Louis doesn’t understand him. As far as he can tell, Harry Styles is as privileged as it gets: charming upper middle class white family, wealthy step-father, attractive (objectively, anyway - Louis refuses to view Harry as anything other than a poetry reading demon intent on destroying his mental well being), and constantly surrounded by a group of well-dressed, fellow upper-middle class friends who look like the kind of people you’d see laughing at salad in a stock photo.

Harry and Niall exchange a fist bump before Harry makes his way onto the stage.

True to form, Harry’s poem is about the beauty of sunlight and how nature is the only true escape in a world filled with violence and anger. It sounds like an infomercial for rural tourism, like Harry’s going to start handing out pamphlets with information about the Cotswolds at the end of his recitation.

But whatever. Harry can recite whatever pretentious poetry he wants. As long as he gets offstage soon so Louis can take his turn.

But Harry doesn’t actually get off stage when he finishes. No, he does something much worse. He starts to  _ sing _ .

And not just any song. No, he starts belting out the words to a Bob Dylan song acapella-style:

 

_ Grandma said, "Boy, go and follow your heart _

_ And you'll be fine at the end of the line _

_ All that's gold doesn't shine _

_ Don't you and your own true love ever part" _

 

When he finishes, there’s a moment of total and complete silence, the audience completely enraptured by Harry’s voice (which, admittedly, is pretty amazing).

“Forgive me for being self-indulgent,” Harry starts explaining (in his normal speaking voice this time), “but that song’s always meant a lot to me and it felt like the perfect end note to that particular piece.”

He pauses, grinning as people break out in a smattering of awed applause. “Also, Bob Dylan’s always been an inspiration of mine and it felt like a fitting way to honour his recent Nobel Peace Prize win.” 

A loud round of snapping breaks out after he says this, and honest to God they react like Harry’s just solved world hunger or bestowed peace upon the world.

Louis rolls his eyes and mutters, “This isn’t fucking karaoke,” under his breath. Liam elbows him, “Shut up. It was … different.”

Louis snorts but obliges, choosing to review his poem again quickly before it’s his turn to go up. Or that’s his plan, anyway, until he looks up to see Harry’s Irish friend glaring and stalking towards him from across the room.

He stops right in front of Louis. “You got a problem with Harry, mate?” He asks, his voice sounding almost pleasant on the surface but Louis can hear the threat underneath.

Liam tenses next to Louis.

“Nope, just waiting for him to wrap up his Bob Dylan tribute so I can go,” Louis says with a smile.

Niall opens his mouth to say something else, and Louis can already tell it’s not going to be very nice, but a large ring-covered hand appears on his shoulder from behind as Harry steps in.

“Niall, thanks for the support but I’d appreciate it if you just left it alone.”

Niall gives him an indignant look. “He was being an arse - ”

“Niall stop. Please.” Harry’s tone is calm, but Niall acquiesces instantly. He shoots Louis one last dirty look before walking away.

“Sorry about that,” Harry says, his eyes meeting Louis’. Louis just shrugs.

Harry gives him another long look before going to join Niall across the room.

Liam nudges Louis. “You’re up next.”

Louis’ hands start to shake again. He feels like Eminem in Lose Yourself (thankfully minus the whole vomiting all over his [rather stylish] sweater part).

He strides up to the stage as confidently as he can and takes his place in front of the mic. Liam shoots him an encouraging smile and Louis takes a deep breath before launching into his poem.

By the time he really hits his stride, he can feel his eyes welling up as he's hit by wave after wave of emotion. He'd known the mere act of writing the poem would be cathartic but he hadn't realized just how powerful actually _performing_  it for an audience would be.

And then he hears snickering. His concentration is broken for a fraction of a second, but it's just long enough for him to notice Harry rolling his eyes and whispering something to Niall as the both of them start giggling.

Louis is literally in the middle of talking about how hard it was to grow up without a father and Harry Styles has the audacity to laugh at him.

Not that it's the first time. No, Louis’ intense dislike of Harry has a precedent. And as much as Liam (and everyone else aware of their rivalry) must think it comes from a place of jealousy, it really _really_  doesn't.

The first time Louis had ever laid eyes on Harry Styles, his first thought had been _wow that is an attractive human_  closely followed by _is that a sheer blouse?_   

The point is, he'd been curious and charmed and wanted to know more about him. He'd vowed that he'd go talk to him after all the poems had been performed during the social part of the slam when everyone downed shots of espresso and bonded over their mutual hatred of capitalism/the patriarchy/whatever the social justice issue of the day may be. 

He'd fistbumped Liam, and as he'd turned to go up onstage, had made eye contact with Harry (who was already staring back at him). Louis had given him a small smile and had been pleased to see the faint blush that painted Harry's cheeks in response.

Onstage, though, things had changed quickly. Louis had decided to debut a new piece (about the absurdity of society expecting you to know what you want to do with the rest of your life before you can even legally drink) and was just reaching the peak of his poem when he noticed Harry snickering. He had his hands over his face as if that would somehow hide the fact that he is was _laughing at Louis’ poem._

Louis had faltered for a moment, desperately hoping that he'd misread the situation, that Harry had some kind of condition that resulted in spontaneous uncontrollable laughter, but Harry chose that moment to meet his eyes, and the abashed look on his face at being caught was enough to let Louis know that he knew _exactly_  what he'd done. So much for Louis going out of his way to talk to him after. 

Louis had somehow managed to finish his poem but he'd been on autopilot. To his knowledge, no one else had noticed the exchange (not even Liam) and Louis had wanted to keep it that way. 

He's embarrassed, is the thing, even all these months later. And he thought he'd gotten over it but the tears that had already been building in his eyes because of how strongly he'd been affected by the words of his poem quickly morph into tears of hot shame as he watches Harry and Niall laugh to themselves. For once, he doesn't want Harry to see him watching him; he's proud and he's ashamed and Harry doesn't deserve to see how much his casual cruelty has affected Louis.

He manages to finish the verse, his face hot under the stage lights as he does his best to keep some sense of composure, but the second he's done he bolts offstage, completely ignoring the confused finger snaps trailing him out of the room.

He needs to flee. He feels rather than sees Liam pushing through the crowd behind him but he can't deal with anyone right now, not even his best friend. He just runs faster.

 

***

 

He finds himself in the middle of the quad. There's something comforting about the cool night air on his face and the smell of freshly mown grass and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and urging his racing heart to slow down.

All he’s ever wanted is a safe place to read his poetry and to express himself and Harry’s gone and ruined it. What is he supposed to do now?

A wild part of his brain considers transferring to another university but even in the middle of a self-pitying session Louis realized that was a bit excessive.

He wipes at his eyes, trying to compose himself so he can go face the rest of the world with his head held high (at least until he reaches his dorm room; after that all bets are off) when he hears the sound of a branch breaking behind him and whirls around to see the last person he wants to encounter when in the middle of a breakdown.

“Uhm,” Harry says, the awkwardness in his voice amplified by the complete and utter silence of the otherwise empty quad.

“What, come to laugh some more? I’m glad my rapidly declining emotional state can provide so much entertainment.”

Harry blanches. “No, Louis - ” He breaks off. Louis realizes with a start that it’s the first time Harry’s ever said his name.

“I’m sorry.” He finally finishes. Louis doesn’t say anything. They both know it’s not enough.

“I wasn’t laughing at _you_ , though, really.”

Louis scoffs. “Really? You’re going with the ‘I was laughing _with_  you excuse?”

Harry gapes. “No, seriously, what I did was rude and truly terribly timed but Niall and I were laughing at Ben.”

An internal record scratch noise goes off in Louis’ head.

“...What?”

Harry sighs. “There’s this guy, Ben Winston. He went to high school with me and Niall. He’s a gigantic asshole who only goes to these events to hit on first year girls. He thinks going to poetry slams and classical art appreciation groups will make him seem cultured or whatever.”

Harry rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, he’d just spent like 15 minutes talking to this girl, really getting into it and putting an arm around her shoulder, when she just cuts him off mid-sentence, shoves him off and storms away.”

Louis just stares at Harry.

“So instead of, I don’t know, _listening_  to the person on stage baring their soul to the audience through their poetry,” Louis begins, still processing,  “You were watching some guy hit on a girl across the room and then laughing at him when he struck out.”

Harry goes red. “I mean, it sounds bad when you put it like that." 

Louis doesn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, he turns to start walking towards the door.

“Louis please!” Harry’s voice is pleading, and there’s a desperation in it, a kind of vulnerability that Louis’ never heard come from him before. 

He waits.

“I should have been paying attention to you. Niall and I were being jerks. First class dickbags. But I promise you, I would never laugh at your poetry, especially while you’re on stage. I know how much courage it takes to go up there.”

Louis could just bite his tongue and accept this apology or he could say what he’s really thinking and potentially make things a whole lot worse. Naturally he chooses option B.

“Well that’s just not true, is it?” He asks.

Harry gives him a blank stare.

“This isn’t the first time you were laughing while I was on stage.”

“I don’t - ”

“Do you remember when you first started coming to slams?”

Harry nods, confused.

“Do you remember anything about the poem I read that first night?”

Harry shakes his head.

“You laughed then too. And it really ruined my confidence that night and affected me for weeks afterward. I couldn’t wait to get off-stage.”

Harry opens his mouth to start apologizing again and Louis cuts him off.

“I don’t care if it wasn’t intentional. I don’t care if Ronald McDonald was doing a striptease behind me on stage. You made me feel ridiculous, and like what I had to say was meaningless, and for nearly a fucking year I thought you were mocking me. Do you have any idea how horrible that feels? To have the one thing you love,  _the one thing that makes you feel like you have a voice_ , turned against you and made into a joke?”

Harry looks horrified. 

“Ignorance is not an excuse. What you did was shitty.”

“I’m so, _so_  sorry.” Harry’s eyes are wide and now he looks like the one on the verge of tears. 

“You might want to think about the consequences of your behaviour the next time you’re tempted to start laughing in the middle of someone trying to deal with their pain through poetry. Just a suggestion.”

Louis is almost at the door leading back into the building when Harry speaks.

“I had no idea why you hated me. I didn’t know why you looked at me like that, why you acted like I was nothing. I never felt accepted by you or anyone else in that group. You know how it is, Louis. They take their cues from you." 

There’s long moment of silence before Harry says anything else. 

“I was bullied in high school. Like, really badly. I couldn’t wait to graduate and get as far away from my hometown as possible. I just wanted a fresh start and university felt like the perfect opportunity to finally be myself.”

Louis’ seen how Harry dresses, how cool his friends are, and he can’t put two and two together. He never would have guessed that Harry Styles was bullied.

He turns around to face Harry.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because that’s what my poetry’s about. All of it. And if someone laughed in the middle of me trying to work out my own feelings I would be devastated.” 

He pauses. “You made yourself vulnerable and shared a part of yourself with all of us. That took a lot of guts and it’s not okay that I made you feel judged for that. So I’m telling you something that nobody here knows except for Niall. And Ben, I guess. He was responsible for a pretty huge part of the bullying after all.”

And suddenly it clicks.

“Watching him get rejected like that must have felt like watching karma unfold right in front of you.” Louis says.

Harry nods, his cheeks flushed. “He spent 4 years ruining my life. I hope you understand why I acted the way I did. I’m really ashamed. I never wanted to make someone else feel the way I did.” 

He looks genuinely upset and miserable and Louis realizes with a start that he’s already forgiven him. He feels … light … like he’s let go of baggage he hadn’t even realized had been carrying him down for so long.

“It’s okay, Harry,” He says, and Harry looks up with wonder in his eyes because it’s the first time Louis’ said his name too.

“I um - ” Harry starts to say before flushing violently red and shutting himself up.

And now Louis kind of needs to know what’s got him blushing like a kid whose parents have just found his porn stash.

“You what?” He asks, his voice doing that teasing thing it always does when he’s flirting. And oh shit, Louis realizes his attraction to Harry is still alive and well even after a year of being buried underneath seething hatred.

Somehow, Harry goes even redder. “Okay now _you_  can’t laugh at me." 

Louis gives him a small smile of encouragement.

“I, um, kind of _haveacrushonyouandwonderedwhyyouhatedmebecauseilikedyousomuch._ ” Harry blurts out.

Now it’s Louis’ turn to blush a bit. “The first time I saw you I thought you were cute and I couldn’t wait to go up and talk to you,” Louis admits. 

“But then, you know, the whole laughter thing kind of killed the mood.” Despite the rebuke implicit in his words, Louis’ tone is light and teasing. 

“Louis Tomlinson, are you saying you were attracted to me?” Harry asks, his face bright as a beet and his eyes full of mirth. 

“Am,” He corrects. “I _am_  attracted to you.”

They spend one long moment staring at each other like they can hardly believe what’s happening before they launch themselves at each other, meeting somewhere in the middle of the quad and finally giving into the attraction that’s been there the whole time.

They’ve only _just_  started getting heated when Louis hears the door behind them burst open followed swiftly by Niall’s Irish cackle and Liam’s, “OH MY GOD LOUIS!”

Louis and Harry break apart, look at their friends, and then look back at each other before bursting into laughter together.

The good kind of laughter, this time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Mon](http://floralrry.tumblr.com) for looking this over!
> 
> Here's a link to my [tumblr](http://adifferentkindofson.tumblr.com/post/157991043776/i-slam-therefore-i-am-by-veronicahague-yeah-well) if you want to reblog the fic post and kudos/comments are always very much appreciated <3


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